


To Heal is to Grow is to Love

by Flammablepie



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, is it a slow burn?, its a bit slice of lifey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammablepie/pseuds/Flammablepie
Summary: She tells herself that she came here on a whim but the two perfectly packed bags clenched tightly in her hands say otherwise.Effie returns to Twelve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is mainly Effie/Haymitch with explorations into Effie's past. I've always felt that there is/was so much more to Effie's character and I tried my best to flesh her out. It's about them starting to recover from the effects of the war, learning to accept support and finding comfort in each other. I'm not sure if it's considered a slow burn but I'm going to be calling it that anyway.
> 
> There's a bit of background Peeta/Katniss too.
> 
> My sister was my only proofreader, so if you see any spelling mistakes or missing words please tell me! Also, I wasn't sure if any of the warnings applied but if you find that they do, please message me and I'll change it :)
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Effie steps off of the train, her sandaled feet softly meeting the concrete floor, and gazes out at District Twelve. Her pale pink sundress ripples in the summer breeze as she tilts her head towards the sinking sun, basking her bare face in warmth. She tells herself that she came here on a whim but the two perfectly packed bags clenched tightly in her hands say otherwise.

Peeta mentioned a few weeks ago that the small population in the district were planning some festivities in order to celebrate the Summer Solstice and she found herself wishing she was with them in District Twelve rather than sitting in her modern apartment in the Capitol. So she came. Spontaneously. _On a whim_. Yes, she tells herself, it’s pure coincidence that she turns up on the day of the festival.

She doesn’t know where to go first. She wants to put her bags down in Victor’s Village but she’s sure the party is in full swing now, if the relatively loud music coming from the main square is anything to go by. So she makes her way towards the music, her bags knocking her calves and shins as she hurries down the cobbled road leading to the square. She’s silently hoping that they wouldn’t mind accommodating her, despite being completely uninvited, and she falters for a moment, remembering how _rude_ it is to just show up. But she so desperately wants to see Peeta and Katniss and Haymitch.

Haymitch.

She sees him. She sees him on the edge of the crowd, chatting to a red headed beauty, his flask grasped loosely in one hand while the other is gesturing along with his words. He looks happy, relaxed even, and she freezes on the spot as her heart clenches. She’s seen Haymitch in all sorts of states over the years, but not like this. Never like this. And especially not around her.

The music and dancing and people are all too much and Effie wants to turn away, especially at the sight of them, to tell herself that this was a big mistake, that their weekly phone calls didn’t mean anything to her, that she’s not at all affected by what’s happening before her eyes. Just as she takes her first step back in the direction of the station she hears her name from behind.

“Effie? Effie is that you?”

Peeta is striding over to her, arms outstretched with a wide smile on his face.

“Peeta!” she calls, her voice filled with delight, “Peeta how very good to see you!”

She embraces him tightly, thankful for the fact that he has more or less recovered from the hijacking.

“I almost didn’t recognise you,” he begins when they pull away. _‘Without your wig and makeup’_ goes unspoken.

“Yes yes,” she beams, a little self-conscious,“This is me now!”

As though picking up on her discomfort, he grins and says, “You look beautiful. Really Effie,”

She flushes but before she can get another word in, he eyes her bags and asks, “So are you staying?”

“I… Well,” she glances at Haymitch briefly, who’s chucking about something with the woman, and forces a smile, “No, darling, no I’m not,”

He looks puzzled, “Then why have you brought all these bags? And you do know that the last train just left, right?”

Thankfully, Peeta mistakes the alarm in her eyes for panic for missing the last train rather than panic for being called out and smiles, “You can stay the night Effie. Don’t worry about it. I’m not sure if Katniss and I are… Safe enough to share a house with but I’m sure Haymitch will take you,”

Haymitch.

She gazes at him, his face flushed with laughter while the giggling woman gently rests a hand on his arm, and she feels her stomach tighten. Apparently her expression has given her away because Peeta glances at him too before suggesting, “Or maybe Katniss and I can share a house and you can take one of ours,”

“You’re too generous,” she cracks another wide smile that all her muscles scream is fake, “No I’ll be quite alright in a hotel… Does Twelve have hotels? Or maybe an inn or something? Don’t you worry about me darling,”

She’s slowly backing away, her body moving on its own, and before Peeta can call out a warning, she stumbles backwards into a man, causing his glass to fall and shatter loudly on the street. She feels everyone’s eyes on her as she apologises profusely to the man and when she turns her head back, her eyes connect with Haymitch’s. Her heart is hammering in her chest and she can feel her palms get sweaty as she tightens the grip on her bags. He looks surprised but she can’t tell if it's a good surprised or a bad surprised. She doesn’t know what to do. So she runs.

Effie hears Peeta shouting for her and she thinks, she _thinks_ she hears Haymitch’s voice too, but she’s running at top speed, not caring if it's _ladylike_ or not, her sandals slapping loudly on the street and her legs colliding with her bags with every step she takes. She doesn’t know which direction she’s heading in but she knows it’s definitely away from the party and away from _him_ , and that’s good enough for her. Her lungs are screaming for more air and her muscles are begging for rest but she just runs and runs and runs and she feels the change in texture under her feet from stone to grass.

She still hurtling along when she trips on a stone and goes sprawling onto the soft grass, her bags flying out of her hands. She groans as she attempts to push herself up but it dawns on her where she is. The Meadow. The mass grave that holds the bodies of the citizens of Twelve. She tries to steady her breathing but the fact that she’s been running doesn’t help her erratic breaths. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to chase away all of the faces of all the children she picked, _she picked_ , and sent to their deaths. The face of a bright eyed, twelve year old who didn’t last a _minute_ in the Arena flashes before her and she feels like throwing up. Everything feels fuzzy and her trembling arms are barely holding her up. She feels the dead mothers and fathers and siblings calling out to her from the ground below. _Why did you do it Effie? Why did you take them away from us? They’re all dead. And now we’re all dead too._

She hears a terrified scream and she panics because people shouldn’t be screaming anymore. People shouldn’t be in danger. People shouldn’t be hurt. The screams don’t stop and it isn’t until her throat feels like it’s being ripped apart that she realises that they’re coming from her. She feels warm hands grasp her shoulders and she’s so confused because dead people shouldn’t be warm. They’re never warm when they bring the bodies back. They’re never warm when she holds their hands and weeps silently before the coffins are nailed shut and sent back to the district.

She hears a voice, distant and familiar, calling her name. She recognises the low, gravelly voice calling out to her and she feels fear rise in her throat because she shouldn’t be hearing _that_ voice because _he_ isn’t dead. _He_ shouldn’t be dead. Unless The Capitol has got him. _Unless The Capitol has got him._

“I don’t know anything!” she screeches desperately, tears streaming down her face, “I don’t know anything! I wasn’t told anything! Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!”

She’s vaguely aware that she’s being picked up and she screams again because she doesn’t want to go where they’re taking her. They never take her to nice places. They always smelled of blood. Then she feels cold. And then warmth. And then softness. And nothing makes sense because this feels safe and comforting and nothing like where they usually drag her to. And then there’s darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Effie wakes up with a start and her first instinct is to scream. So she does. Except all her hears is a strangled cry and all she feels is pain in her throat.

“Hey there, Princess,”

She shifts in the bed and her eyes land on Haymitch who’s slouched on a sofa at the other end of the room and she slowly becomes more aware of her surroundings. Before she can even part her lips to say anything, Haymitch mutters, “You’re name is Effie Trinket. The war is over. You’re in District Twelve. You’re in Haymitch’s spare room in his house in Victor’s Village,”

She relaxes into the soft pillows and sheets for a moment before she reaches over for the glass of water on the bedside table. The cool water feels like heaven, trickling down her abused throat and she sighs appreciatively. She sinks back into the warmth of the bed before opening her mouth to speak.

“Haymitch,” she tries, but it comes out as a hoarse croak, “What happened last night?”

He’s still in the clothes he was wearing the night before except his shoes and socks are off and kicked away from him, along with an empty bottle of liquor, and Effie can’t help but think he looks even more handsome looking slightly dishevelled.

“You screamed the district down. Good job, sweetheart,”

“Haymitch,” she presses, “What happened?”

“You tell me,”

She frowns at him for a moment before beginning, “I came to Twelve to visit the kids. And you. I got off the train and walked to the party when,” she stops, memories of the night before flooding back to her.

“When you saw me and then bolted,” he finishes for her.

“The Meadow…” she starts slowly, “What happened there? I don’t… I don’t remember,”

“From what I could see? Panic attack, flashback or something,” he mutters gruffly.

“Yes, I… I thought I was back in The Capitol… In my cell,” she trails off quietly.

A pause.

“The kids and I brought you back here where you seemed to have calmed down a bit so Katniss wiped you down as best as she could and put you into her pyjamas,”

She looks down, noticing the plain cotton shirt and trousers that covers her.

“Thank you,” she mumbles.

He just nods.

They make their way down to the kitchen and despite everything that's happened all Effie can think of is how much she wants to run away from everything in Twelve. How much she wants to run away from him. After a quiet breakfast of bread and tea, Effie asks for her bags so that she can change. She throws on the brightest dress that she has and she relishes the freedom that sundresses allow before strapping on her slightly muddy sandals. She tests her smile in the mirror above the vanity, it doesn’t reach her eyes but she tells herself it will have to do.

While Haymitch is still in the kitchen, she slips out of his house with her two bags and makes her way to Peeta’s, expecting Katniss to be there as well. Peeta opens the door with a wide smile and invites her in, pointedly ignoring her bags and how her voice doesn’t go louder than a hoarse whisper. Katniss however, is not so tactful.

“You’re leaving. Why.”

“Katniss my girl!” Effie grins, somehow still managing to sound cheerful as she drops her bags and pulls her in for a hug.

Katniss tenses for a moment before reciprocating, mumbling a quiet, “I’ve missed you, Effie,”

When they pull away Katniss’ voice turns a little harsh, “So why are you leaving Effie?”

“Well,” she begins chirpily, moving towards the sofa, “I came here to visit the two of you. And Haymitch. But I missed the last train last night and I  _ really _ should be going today,”

“You’re welcome to stay longer,” Peeta offers warmly as he places a mug of tea on the table before her.

“Oh no, I really couldn’t. I have to get back to The Capitol! I have,”

No friends. No family. No life.

“Friends and family and a life!” she finishes with a smile that hurts her jaw and a flourish of her hand.

Neither of them are buying it.

“Effie,” Katniss mutters, her voice gentle, “You don’t have to pretend,”

Effie manages a giggle that somehow comes out all wrong and says, “Oh! No, no. I’m not pretending,” her smile falters a little, “At… At all,” and it’s gone.

It’s quiet for a very long time.

“Besides,” Effie begins as though the silence didn’t exist, returning to her chipper tone, “I doubt Haymitch’s girl would be very happy if I stayed at his house,”

Peeta and Katniss look both astonished and puzzled, “Haymitch’s girl?”

Now she’s puzzled by their puzzlement, “Yes the lady he was talking to, at the party last night,”

Realisation dawns on Peeta, he smiles and shakes his head at her, “Effie,”

But they never hear the rest of the sentence because right at that moment they hear an angered roar.

“Effie!”


	3. Chapter 3

Haymitch drops the dishes in the sink and looks around his relatively grease and dirt free kitchen, silently thanking Katniss for paying Greasy Sae to pop by once a week to clean the place. He thinks about Effie, about how she looked last night, how she ran, and how she screamed.

_ “I don’t know anything! I wasn’t told anything! Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!” _

Who was she talking about? Fellow cellmate? A friend? Family? He swallows. A lover?

He feels anger fester in his stomach, remembering how shattered she looked when he visited her in the hospital after she was rescued from prison. He sat by her unconscious, bruised and broken body, muttering quiet apologies amidst the beeping before going off to drown himself in alcohol. When Katniss split the sky in two in the Arena they were supposed to get her. Plutarch was supposed to make sure she was safe but The Capitol got there before the Rebels did. And they took her. And tortured her.

He remembers how she looked, dressed up in the ridiculous style of The Capitol when she showed up to bring Katniss to Snow’s execution. She smiled and smiled and smiled until her thick makeup began to crack at the corners of her mouth. But not at the corners of her eyes. Her makeup never cracked at the corners of her eyes. Even when she was an escort.

He remembers how he tried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder from behind, when Katniss’ fate was being decided, and how she flinched away from him before realising who it was. She apologised, saying that he startled her, before twittering on about something completely useless and irrelevant, making an effort to avoid his eyes.

He remembers how his phone rang shrilly in the dead of night, a few weeks after he and Katniss returned to Twelve, how he stumbled from the sofa the study, picking up the phone, ready to yell at whoever was calling until he heard her soft voice at the other end.  _ ‘Haymitch. I know it’s late but…’ _ They didn’t stop talking until the rising sun began spilling orange into the room.

The quacking of his geese breaks his reverie and he wonders what’s taking her so long to get changed, especially since she’s abandoned the wigs and horrible dresses.

“You okay up there, princess?” he calls out.

There’s no reply.

“Effie?” he calls a little louder, taking the steps two at a time.

There’s no reply.

“For god’s sake Effie you better not be ignoring me,” he grits out before he pushes open the guest room door.

He’s greeted with the sight of a made bed, the pyjamas folded and placed innocently in the middle, and a distinct lack of her bags. He swears under his breath. She’s bolted. Again.

Rage begins to fill is body. He thinks about how cruel she is for making him ache for her. For giving him a taste of what he so desperately wants, before disappearing again. For turning up in the middle of the party, after six months, without so much as a warning, looking absolutely gorgeous and ten years younger in her flowy dress and light honey blonde hair. Does she even have any idea what her very presence does to him? He wants to down as much liquor as he can but Effie’s voice regarding his sobriety comes back to him.

_ ‘I’m glad you’re down to a bottle a day, Haymitch. It’s good progress! When I come visit I’ll bring down the best bottle of whiskey I can find’ _

He wonders if there was a bottle of whiskey in her bags. Then he realises that if she’s heading to the station, he still has about ten minutes before the next train departs. He doesn't know why he's going after her or what he's going to say but he pulls on his shoes in a rush and flings open his front door, bellowing her name.

“Effie!”


	4. Chapter 4

“Effie!” he rages again, stomping in the direction of the train station.

“Haymitch!” he hears Katniss yell from the open door of Peeta’s house.

“What?” he all but snarls across the green.

“She’s here,”

_ She’s here. _

Haymitch stomps all the way back and all the way up the steps to Peeta’s house to come face to face with Effie in the hallway. He stops dead and takes her in. She’s wearing a new dress today, the sort of yellow he’s always liked that reminded him of sunflowers. Her hair is down, completely free of pins or ribbons or anything like that, and falls gently just past her shoulders. She’s so much shorter when she’s not in heels, he thinks. He wants to say something to her. Something nice. But that doesn’t work.

“Leaving so soon, princess?” he sneers.

“No, not yet,” she tries a bright smile, “I’ll be catching the last train today. So I can spend time with everyone here,”

“Well save us the ordeal and catch the next one, sweetheart,” he growls.

She look of hurt passes over her face but she quickly recovers with a strained smile, “I...Very well then,”

Peeta tries to open his mouth to say something but she continues.

“I can see I’m not welcome here,”

“Yeah, go back to The Capitol, princess. Back to your wigs and dresses and parties and fun,” he snarls.

For some reason, this is her undoing, and every pent up emotion from the last six months goes spilling out of her.

She laughs a humourless bitter laugh, voice still cracking, “Yes. Back to The Capitol. Back to my dead family. And friends who ignore the torture I went through. Back to the very place where I was left behind to endure beating after beating after beating for information I didn’t have. Yes, why don't I go back to the place where I tried to kill myself!”

Everyone goes silent.

Effie gasps at what she said and looks down at her feet.

Peeta is the first to move. He places a gentle hand on the small of her back and guides her to the kitchen, whispering comforting words. Katniss turns to shout at Haymitch, looks at the retreating figures of Peeta and Effie, thinks better of it and just hisses at him.

“Nice job, Haymitch,”

Haymitch swears again. He was never good at these sort of things, especially after he’s had some alcohol. So he justs awkwardly sinks into the sofa. Effie returns a few minutes later, face tired and impassive while Peeta arrives with a tray of tea. They sit around the living room in a tense silence, waiting for one another to speak.

“It was sleeping pills,” Effie mutters softly, her hands trembling around her mug, “I didn’t turn up for a dinner with a friend of mine. He… He found me in my apartment and called an ambulance,”

“Fuck Effie,” Haymitch breathes, running his hands down his face, “I’m sorry,”

She clears her throat, “That was… About a week ago. Dr. Aurelius once mentioned to me, when I was in the hospital, that if things were to get bad I should… Go somewhere I felt safe, somewhere where I felt like I belonged,”

“So you came here,” Peeta smiles tenderly.

She beams back at him, “Yes, I… I thought I was happy in The Capitol but I wasn’t. I missed you and Katniss and yes,” she looks down at her tea and her cheeks colour a little, “Even Haymitch,”

“So why were you leaving?” Peeta asks tentatively.

Everyone notices and ignores the fact that he’s implying that she’s not leaving anymore.

“I saw everyone last night, in the square, looking happy and cheerful and I realised that no one here would accept me. I’m just… I’m just the woman who showed up once a year and sentenced two children to death,”

“They won’t recognise you without your wigs and everything Effie,” Katniss states bluntly, “And even if they did and cause you trouble, we’ll sort them out,”

Effie begins to cry softly, touched by the sentiment, and Katniss pats her shoulder awkwardly.

“I'm sorry,” she manages to get out, “For everything. And I'm sorry I didn't know where else to go,”

“Hey,” Peeta calls gently, “We’re a team aren't we?”

The four of them are quiet for a moment. The four of them, without family, without friends, and with far too many scars and nightmares to stay completely sane.

“Yeah,” Haymitch mutters gruffly, “Yeah, we’re a team,”

Effie cries harder at that.


	5. Chapter 5

It's decided that Effie will take the spare room in Haymitch’s house. Her concerns with the red headed woman are temporarily forgotten as she begins to unpack, folding her dresses and tops into the dresser drawers, while he attempts to brew the tea Katniss gave them for Effie’s throat. She tucks her empty bags below the bed, arranges what few cosmetics she brought with her on the vanity and gives her hair a few brushes. She caresses her golden tresses, relishing the length and lustre that she regained, remembering how the Peacekeepers had hacked her hair off unevenly and how brittle it had been when she woke up in the hospital.

Haymitch stands by the stove, stirring the pungent smelling concoction of herbs and flowers in a pot, trying to remember whether Katniss said to heat it for five or ten minutes. He wasn’t really listening to what she was saying, all his thoughts were on the sniffling woman who stood a few feet behind him, bags in her hands. He wonders how long she’ll be staying.

A couple of weeks pass in the same fashion. They sit in the living room, Effie sipping her herbal tea and Haymitch gulping down some form of alcohol. She reads the old, worn books from his study, sometimes out loud for his benefit, and he feeds the geese or naps. Sometimes they talk. He tells her more about Twelve and she tells him how The Capitol has changed. They go over to Peeta’s for dinner and the four of them sit at the dining table, a broken, pieced together family, and eat.

One evening Effie quietly suggests a picnic.

“I just thought maybe it would be good for me to get some sun,” she smiles, “And we could do something together, as a team,”

“That’s a great idea, Effie!” Peeta exclaims, “We can put together a picnic basket… Maybe some sandwiches and some cakes… and of course,” he grins at Katniss, “Cheese buns,”

“There’s a nice clearing in the woods,” Katniss pipes up, thinking that some fresh air would do her some good too, “We can go there. Maybe I can do some hunting too,”

Everyone looks at Haymitch, waiting for his reply. Effie makes a face at him and he sighs resignedly, “There better be some alcohol in the picnic basket,”

The next morning they meet up and make their way towards the edge of Twelve. Effie is in another summer dress, a soft baby blue, with her hair up in braids and Haymitch is hit by how much she looks like a merchant class local. Katniss is in slightly more practical gear; a loose tunic and trousers with her bow slung across her chest. Peeta is laughing at something she said, the picnic basket swinging back and forth in his hand as he clutches his sketching supplies in another.

They lay down the chequered blanket, half in the shade of the trees and half in the warmth of the morning sun. Katniss and Peeta wander off together, moving slightly deeper into the forest, so she can hunt and he can sketch some of the flowers. Haymitch sprawls out on the blanket, fishing out a bottle of clear liquor, and Effe sits next to him, her entire body turned to face the sun.

“Aren’t you scared of getting freckles, princess?” he teases.

She chuckles at him before murmuring softly, “When I was in my cell they would keep me in the dark for most of the time, except when they came to interrogate me. I missed the sun,”

He grunts in response and they’re silent for awhile. Effie closes her eyes, enjoying the warmth she’s being bathed in, taking a deep breath of the clear forest air, and relishing the very fact that she’s alive. Damaged and fragmented, but still alive. She tries to remember the last time she actually felt alive. She wants to say it was when she woke up in the hospital, where the excruciating pain she felt was proof that blood still ran through her veins. She wants to say it was when somehow  _ both _ Katniss and Peeta made it out of the 74th Games, where she shrieked in happiness and cried in relief. She wants to say it was when she did her first Capitol Fashion Week as a naive teen, where she strode out confidently onto the runway and the camera flashes and clamouring wouldn’t stop. She thinks instead, of her father.

Effie recalls the time when she was freed of the chains of propriety or manners, if only for awhile, as her father chased her around their garden while she howled in delight. Little Effie with her wild blond hair, and dirty fingers and toes, squealing in amusement as he came after her, threatening her with tickles. Her father with his gentle eyes and gentle hands and gentle love and a voice that always made her feel safe. She wonders if he would be proud of her now.

Haymitch takes a swig of the liquor, wincing slightly as it burns all the way down. He cracks open an eye and gazes at Effie. He can’t help but appreciate how she looks, drenched in sunlight, her blond locks practically gold and her fair skin flushed and radiant. His eyes drift to her pale pink lips, slightly upturned at the corners and he can’t stop his mind from thinking about what kissing her would be like. There’s a thin scar running down the back of her arm and he frowns. Why didn’t he notice it before? He thinks of his own collection of scars, particularly the one that stretches across his stomach; even The Capitol with its advanced technology couldn’t get rid of it. There’s a faint one by his temple, where Katniss had attacked him in Thirteen. There are a few small ones on his foot from when he drunkenly stumbled onto some broken glass.

Then there are the scars that he can’t see. Like the nightmares of the Arena. Of candy pink birds and swinging axes. Of a bloody, dying Maysilee in his arms. Of the massacre of his family and girlfriend. Then there’s the nightmares out of the Arena. Of the twenty-three years of tributes he mentored and watched die. Of the hijacked Peeta screaming from behind a protective glass. Of a barely alive Effie lying in a hospital bed.

He hears her giggling and it breaks him out of his grim thoughts. It’s not one of her fake giggles, or the high pitched one she used when talking to sponsors, it’s a genuine, girlish giggle. He pushes himself up a little so he can get a better look at her, squinting against the sun.

“What’s so funny, princess?”

She looks almost embarrassed but carries on anyway, “I was just thinking about that time when you stole one of my wigs to imitate me,”

It was a time when, in a feeble attempt to make themselves feel better about the early deaths of their tributes, they got drunk in the penthouse.

He can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You even took some of my makeup! God I was so mad,” she chuckles, “But when I saw you tottering in my heels, which you ruined by the way, with the horrible green wig and smeared makeup I couldn’t stop myself from cracking up,”

Haymitch finds himself reluctantly chuckling along with her.

“You even did a little dance!” she cackles, “You looked like a flailing chicken!”

She starts to imitate him by flapping her arms wildly and he feels the laughter reverberating through his chest and reaching down to his stomach and he can’t remember the last time he actually laughed with such reckless abandon. Nothing exists but the sound of her loud laughter and the feeling of his sides quivering along with his own guffaws. He feels a brief flash of happiness and wonders if now, in a world free of Snow and the Games, he can finally begin to heal, even if it’s just a little bit.

They’re so caught up that they don’t notice Katniss and Peeta emerging from the trees, Katniss with two rabbits in her hand, and Peeta with his sketchbook looking ridiculously pleased about something. She has a smile playing on her lips but he is full out grinning by the time they reach the blanket.

“Finally,” Haymitch grumbles when they arrive, “Let’s eat,”

“You waited for us?” Katniss asks, incredulous, sitting down and uncovering the basket.

“Effie made me,” he rumbles while reaching into it to pull out a cheese bun.

“What’ve you been drawing, Peeta?” Effie asks, peering over his shoulder to try and get a look.

He snaps it shut quickly, “It’s not done yet,” he smiles gently, “I’ll show you when it’s done,”

“It’s a surprise,” Katniss smirks conspiratorially with him.


	6. Chapter 6

One ridiculously hot afternoon, Effie gazes out of Haymitch’s living room window, watching Peeta tend to the front garden of his house from across the green. She remembers how she visited him nearly every day while he was still under the care of Dr. Aurelius. Sometimes she would read to him when he wasn’t up to talking, sometimes he would paint her in watercolours while she read. A quiet bond formed between them in those days, she was somewhere between a friend and a mother figure, and she would be lying if she said watching him leave didn’t break her heart a little.

She hears Katniss’ front door slam shut and observes as she crosses the green towards Peeta with a pitcher and two glasses. Effie watches as she calls out to him, raising the pitcher and saying something, as he stands up and wipes the dirt off his hands on his trousers. They exchange a few words and then move to sit on the porch, away from the searing afternoon sun, and share a drink of what looks like lemonade.

“They’re friends,” she hears Haymitch mutter from behind her, “Of a sort,”

“That’s good,” she whispers, “That’s good,”

“He still has flashbacks of course and she still has her days of deep depression. But they’re better,”

“And you?” she asks so quietly he barely catches it.

He doesn’t know the answer. So he just pretends he doesn’t hear it.

“That boy should do something about  _ my _ garden,” he mumbles petulantly.

“Lilies,” she sighs absentmindedly, “We should plant lilies,”

He tries not to think about the fact that she said  _ ‘we’ _ and thinks instead of the havoc she might wreak trying to plant something.

“Have you even touched dirt in your life, princess?” he ribs.

Effie thinks of her days in the family garden with her father, where they would sit together and read amidst the fragrant scent of lilies.

She shrugs, “How hard can it be?”

He just grunts and takes another swig of his whiskey before sprawling out on the sofa and she begins to speak again. He recognises her tone, wistful, distant and sad, from their days together as Escort and Mentor. There were nights when she would grow quiet, her eyes would glaze over as she looked out at The Capitol from the penthouse, and memories from a different life, from a different time, would slowly pour out of her. Gone would be Effie the Escort, bubbly, ignorant and shallow, and all he was left with was Effie. Plain, normal, Effie. The Effie that was practically blackmailed into becoming an Escort, the Effie that was scared and tired of everything, the Effie that was human.

“I used to spend a lot of time in the garden,” she murmurs, “Especially with my father. When I was there I was allowed to forget The Capitol. Forget the rules and societal expectations and just… be free. I think that’s why he wanted a garden in the first place. The high walls covered in ivy with the shady trees somehow made it feel like different world,”

He gazes at her back silhouetted against the sunlight pouring in from the window.

“Mother would be so cross afterwards but he would let me walk barefoot on the grass, let me wiggle my toes in the dirt, and let me pluck the wild flowers. She would always say that he was a strange man for being so tame and normal, by Capitol standards of course, but he was a doctor and the wigs and makeup just got in his way. He never bought into that nonsense anyway. Sometimes I wonder why she married him,”

He caps the whiskey and silently places it on the coffee table, unwilling to interrupt her reverie.

“He always said to me, especially right before I left to become an Escort,  _ ‘Effie remember this garden, remember who you are’ _ .  Sometimes I don’t think I held true to that… I wish I spent more time with him there before they…”

She trails off but Haymitch already knows the how the sentence will end.

It was her third year as District Twelve’s Escort, they were on the roof, and after her attempt to comfort him after a particularly violent death of their tribute he had lashed out at her.

_ ‘What do Capitol bitches like you know about anything like this? You become Escorts because you think it’s fun,” he sneered, ‘because you think it’s glamorous, because you think it’ll make you famous. You don’t care about the violence. About the kids. You always talk about wanting to be promoted to another district so don’t act like you care, Trinket,” _

It was the first time he saw her break her composure and drop her cheery act.

_ ‘Did you think I wanted this?’ she screeched, ‘That I wanted to send two children to their deaths each year? I only want a different district because I can’t take watching them die anymore! This wasn’t my choice! They threatened my father for letting a Capitol official die under his care! It wasn’t even his fault,’ she spat, ‘the woman was already long gone by the time she arrived. It was either he get sent away, permanently, to a lab somewhere to develop chemical tortures for the Games or offer me up as an Escort. He wanted to go but I knew if he left I wouldn’t see him again and I… I accepted the place as Escort. Behind his back,’ _

That stunned him momentarily before he continued, albeit a little less angry.

_ ‘So why are you so bloody chirpy all the time?’ _

_ ‘Because I have to,’ she hissed, ‘Did you know they were going to kill my father in front of me before I left for my first Games? He knew what Snow was planning to do so he… He took nightlock berries just as the Peacekeepers broke through the door. Snow was livid about it and said to me: One move out of line Ms. Trinket and I’ll make sure your mother suffers,’ _

After that, Haymitch stopped looking at her as though she was another Capitol ditz, became more tolerant of her strict schedules, and tried a little harder for the tributes. They stopped fighting. They always bickered, but never fought.

“Anyway,” she puts on a tone of false happiness, pulling him out of his thoughts, “I’m going to make some sandwiches for those two,”

She moves towards the kitchen but he calls out to her, his tone uncharacteristically tender.

“For what it’s worth, you were the best Escort, Effie,”

He pretends not to hear the soft sniffles coming from the kitchen.


	7. Chapter 7

Some weeks later, Effie is jolted out of sleep by the sound of Katniss screaming and Peeta yelling. Haymitch is already halfway out the door before she can even make it down the stairs.

“I’ll take Peeta,” he barks, running across the green, “You go get Katniss,”

Effie is barefoot and her dressing gown is flapping behind her as she sprints to Katniss’ house. She’s silently thankful that the door is unlocked and she bolts up the stairs to Katniss’ room, taking the stairs two at a time and nearly slipping halfway up. Effie bursts into the room, Katniss still screaming at top volume.

“Katniss, Katniss,” Effie soothes, gently pulling the flailing girl into her arms, “It’s okay, it’s okay you’re safe,”

Katniss begins to come to her senses and her rapid breathing calms down a bit, eyes darting around the room and over Effie’s face to make sure that she’s really back in her room in Twelve. Neither of them speak for a while.

“Where’s Peeta?” Katniss breathes, sounding both disappointed and worried.

“I think he had another flashback or nightmare or something, Haymitch went to him,”

She notices the warm embrace she’s in, aware that Effie is rubbing circles on her back and she’s taken back to the days before the war, before Prim was reaped, back to when her father was still alive. She indulges for a moment as she shifts out of Effie’s arms and settles into her pillows, her eyes fluttering shut, enjoying the feeling of some kind of parental protection that she hasn’t received for years.

“Can you sing?” she croaks, a hint of shyness in her tone.

“Well I… I don’t sing very well but I can try,” Effie whispers.

She just nods.

“There’s a song my father learned from his father… He used to sing to me when I was young. When I got scared,”

Effie takes a deep breath and begins singing quietly.

“You saw my pain, washed out in the rain  
Broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins  
But you saw no fault no cracks in my heart  
And you knelt beside my hope torn apart,”

She pauses briefly.

“But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view  
And we'll live a long life,”

She’s not as good as Katniss’ father but her voice is soothing and melodious and Katniss relaxes a little.

“So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light  
Cause oh they gave me such a fright  
But I will hold as long as you like  
Just promise me we'll be alright,”

She tenderly brushes back some of Katniss’ hair.

“So lead me back  
Turn south from that place  
And close my eyes to my recent disgrace  
Cause you know my call  
And we'll share my all  
And our children come, they will hear me roar,”

Katniss’ breath evens out and deepens.

“So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light  
Cause oh they gave me such a fright  
But I will hold as long as you like  
Just promise me that we'll be alright,”

Effie gingerly slips away from Katniss and moves towards the door but she’s met by the sight of Haymitch resting casually on the doorframe with a smirk on his lips. She lets out a startled noise and Katniss shifts in the bed but doesn’t wake. She frowns at him as she closes the door behind them and pads down the hallway and out of the house.

“How’s Peeta?” she enquires quietly as they make their way back.

“He’s fine now. Gave my jaw a good punch though,”

She looks at him with concern, stopping briefly by his front steps, and takes his chin between her fingers to tilt his head towards her, her thumb lightly stroking his jaw. She’s close enough to inhale what she thinks is uniquely Haymitch; a combination of wood, whiskey and musk and tries her best to focus on the already swelling flesh beneath his beard. Haymitch is making a similar effort to look everywhere but her eyes and to ignore the familiar scent of vanilla and honey that comes from her, glad that she decided to ditch the heavily fragranced perfumes she used to wear during the Games.

“You should get it checked by a doctor. There’s one in Twelve now isn’t there? From The Capitol?” she murmurs.

When he doesn’t reply she lets out a breathy, “Please, Haymitch,”

“Yeah okay,” he mumbles, not trusting himself to say more.

Effie drops her hand and they amble up the steps wordlessly. She heads back to her room and he stays in the living room, waiting for the sun to come up so he can sleep. Both of them try not to think of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Effie sings is Ghosts That We Knew by Mumford & Sons


	8. Chapter 8

The next afternoon, Haymitch drags Effie with him to the town centre when he goes to get his jaw looked at. She’s been carefully avoiding heading anywhere near the town centre ever since she arrived and he thought it was high time she made the trip.

“C’mon sweetheart, this was your idea by the way, and don’t worry,” he smirks despite the pain in his jaw, “No one’s going to bother you when you’re with me,”

“And that bruise forming on your face definitely shows that you can defend yourself, let alone me,” she huffs.

Haymitch is right again, no one seems to notice her as they walk across the square towards the clinic nestled between the post office and the bank. As they enter they’re immediately hit by the odour of disinfectant and the slightly sickly smell that all clinics and hospitals seem to have. It reminds Effie of her days in the hospital and she suppresses a shudder. The secretary takes down his name and in a few minutes they’re called into the doctor’s room.

Effie nearly stops in her tracks, stunned, because standing right before her is the redheaded woman who was talking to Haymitch the evening she arrived. She smiles brightly instead.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Manning,” she introduces herself, offering her hand to shake.

“Effie Trinket,” she takes the hand.

“Yes I remember, I treated you while you were hospitalised,”

Effie tilts her head in puzzlement. She doesn’t remember this woman.

“So Doc,” Haymitch cuts in, “What do you make of this?”

He angles his head so she can examine it. She prods it a few times before sighing in exasperation.

“You really ought to be more careful. How did you get it?”

He ignores the question and just asks one of his own, “What do I have to do? Drink more alcohol to numb the pain?”

Effie rolls her eyes and Dr. Manning shakes her head in irritation, “It’s not too bad. Just stick an ice pack on it to take the swelling down, and a heat pack on it to relieve cramping in the muscles,”

“And have someone kiss it better?” he catches Effie’s eyes and smirks at her.

Effie rolls her eyes again but she can feels her cheeks colour so she turns away from them and examines a poster about the skull on the wall.

“Whatever makes you happy, Haymitch,” Manning shrugs, glancing between him and Effie, smiling mischievously.

Seeing her knowing smile causes him to turn away from her too, yanking the door open and huffing out.

“I’m starving, Eff,” he calls, annoyed, “Let’s see if we can get Peeta to make some cinnamon buns,”

Effie crosses her arms at his rude behaviour and thanks the doctor before she moves to follow him but Manning stops her for a moment.

“He’s lucky to have you,” she smiles benignly.

Effie immediately flushes, “Oh no, we’re not… Haymitch and I are…. Not like that,”

Manning pays no heed to the flustered Effie and continues, “You know he came in everyday to see you while you were still unconscious,”

That takes Effie by surprise but before she can reply, Haymitch grumbles from the entrance of the clinic, “I’m going to leave without you if you don’t hurry up,”

Effie just sends Manning an embarrassed smile before walking after him. They step out into the square and she’s struck by how much reconstruction The Capitol has done for Twelve in such a short time. The square isn’t very busy and there are a lot of newly built, empty shops surrounding it, but life is slowly returning to the district. They stroll leisurely towards Victor’s Village and Effie can’t quite hold it in anymore.

“You’re rather friendly with her,” she tries to sound casual and teasing.

He snorts, “ _She’s_ rather friendly with _me_ ,”

She’s not sure if she should feel comforted by that or not.

“So she treated me back in The Capitol?”

“For awhile,” he mutters, “She got sent assigned to other patients when you woke up,”

“Oh!” she exclaims, “I should get something to thank her. It’s only courteous anyway,”

He just grunts.

When they arrive back home, he opens up another bottle of whiskey and takes a mouthful of it before settling down on the sofa, careful to avoid his throbbing jaw while Effie takes off towards Peeta’s house, in pursuit of some cinnamon buns. He drifts in and out of consciousness, sometimes dreaming sometimes not. When he does, he dreams of Effie. Not of her all done up in The Capitol, but of her the evening she arrived. His mind fixates on the moment he laid his eyes on her.

He was laughing at something Manning said, something he wouldn’t normally find funny but in his mild drunkenness did, when he heard the glass shatter. His head turned towards the sound instinctively and he frowned momentarily at the blond headed woman angled away from him, apologising at the man she bumped into. He squinted, confused, because that woman looked so much like Effie.

He had only seen her stripped of her Capitol attire once in the ten years that they worked together. They were on the train, the tributes already asleep, and he stumbled, half drunk, towards her room and barged in without knocking. She shrieked in shock, whipping around in her bathrobe, her honey hair tumbling over her bare face, and God. God, he knew that he would never be able to forget that image of her. He tried, over the years, to catch another glimpse of her like that, but ever since his unwelcome intrusion she always made a point to lock her door.

Her pink dress fell just above her knees, the dying light gave her exposed skin a warm glow and when she turned back from the man her eyes met his and he knew, he knew, it was her. He didn’t know how to react because she was here. Here in Twelve. Here within twenty feet of him. He wondered if his face did something wrong because before he could even get the first syllable of her name past his lips, she ran. He called out to her without a second thought and when she didn’t show any signs of slowing down or stopping he shamelessly ran after her.

Haymitch is vaguely aware of a warmth by his jaw and he frowns, turning away from it, but it chases after him anyway. He feels the heat spread throughout his face and when he feels his muscles relax, he resigns to it. His eyes reluctantly flutter open and he’s greeted by the sight of the very person he was dreaming of, kneeling by the sofa, pressing a warm cloth to is jaw. Night has fallen and the yellow glow coming from the lights in the house gives her skin a soft diffused look in the dimness. They stare at each other for a few moments, grey meeting blue, and neither of them breathe. Effie is the first to tear her eyes from his, slowly pulling her hand away from his face.

“You looked… tense,” she explains, voice barely above a whisper.

She shifts to get up but his hand darts out to her own, holding her in place.

“It feels good,” he murmurs softly, moving her hand back to its position below his cheek.

He closes his eyes again, unable to bear her gaze and it takes every fibre of her self-restraint to stop herself from reaching out and caressing his face. Her heart is beating rapidly against her rib cage and she can feel his breath become slightly more shallow as she presses the cloth to his skin. They stay like that, unmoving, until the cloth has lost all its heat. She drops it in the sink before making her way to her room with a soft ‘Goodnight’ and with a calmness she doesn’t feel. When he hears her room door close he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. He runs his hands roughly down his face and glances upwards in the direction of her room before slouching back down on the sofa, willing his pulse to slow down.


	9. Chapter 9

The hot summer days blur into one, Effie reads and Haymitch drinks. It’s been just over two months since Effie arrived in District Twelve and she’s not showing any signs of wanting to move out. Haymitch is secretly pleased about that, but along with the pleasure comes the fear of loss when she  _ does _ leave. He doesn’t want to go down that line of thinking so he swallows another mouthful of clear liquor, wondering when the next train from The Capitol will arrive to bring him some whiskey.

It’s been just over two months since she arrived in District Twelve and Haymitch isn’t showing any signs of wanting her to move out. She’s secretly pleased about that, but along with the pleasure comes the fear of loss when he  _ does _ ask her to leave. She doesn’t want to go down that line of thinking so she turns the page of her book, wondering when the next train from The Capitol will arrive to bring her the books she’s ordered.

The supply train arrives a week later and they go to the station to pick up their orders. The act feels strangely comfortable, like they’ve done it a million times before, she tries not to put too much thought into it and allows herself to simply enjoy the feeling. She signs for the relatively hefty box of books while he goes off to collect his alcohol.

Effie stares at the sturdy cardboard box sitting on the grey concrete floor, wondering what her mother would say if she saw her now. Her mother who always resented books and reading and anything that had nothing to do with looking pretty or being charming.

_ ‘Effie is that dirt under your fingernails? Clean yourself up at once!’ _

_ ‘Effie put that book down and do something more constructive like fixing your hair,’ _

_ ‘Effie don’t pick up that heavy chest, let the Avoxes do it,’ _

She sighs and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear before lifting the box up. She can already feel the strain in her muscles but it’s not unmanageable, she just hopes she’ll be able to make it all the way back. Haymitch comes up behind her and sees that she’s lost in another one of her memories so he doesn’t make an effort to speak to her on their way back.

Effie thinks about her mother. Her always perfectly made up, well mannered mother and remembers how, despite being a typical Capitolian, always tried her best for Effie. She tried to instill manners and social skills into Effie, she taught her how to apply makeup in a socially acceptable style, taught her all her little tips and tricks for putting on wigs, taught her how to hold her tongue and smile. Effie was never able to fully appreciate her mother’s effort until she was sent off to the Games Academy, and then when she became an Escort, where image and impression were held at the utmost importance. Her father may have taught her to be human but her mother taught her how to survive in the vicious world.

Her thoughts drift to her father and her parents share a space in her thoughts. Her parents who were so mismatched, who were so different in temperament, who were so stuck in their loveless marriage. They might have been unable to love each other but they always,  _ always _ , loved  _ her _ . She thinks about them, silently bearing their own troubles and burdens, unable to share with anyone else, and thinks that maybe,  _ just maybe _ , she might end up like that too.

Effie feels the box slipping from her sweaty fingers a little too late and just before she can react and just as it’s about to go crashing down, Haymitch’s arm comes under it.

“Take one side and I’ll take the other,” he orders gruffly, slipping his fingers through the cutout hole.

Maybe not, she thinks as they carry the box back together, maybe not.


	10. Chapter 10

Dead. She’s dead. Everyone is dead. Katniss. Peeta. Effie. Mother. Father. Brother.

Haymitch twists in his sheets as the nightmares come rushing into his mind. In a brief moment of consciousness he curses his improving sobriety before being dragged back to the images in his head.

He sees his brother’s face, laughing. He knows this memory well. It was a few days before the Quarter Quell and they were sitting on the floor in the cramped kitchen of their house. It’s the first time his brother’s name would be in the glass bowl for the Reaping and in an effort to comfort him they took turns imitating and poking fun at the Capitol people. He remembers his mother watching from the hallway, a ghost of a smile on her face while his father whispered comforting words to her. He remembers signing up for Tesserae twice that year, so his brother wouldn’t have to, when they were close to starvation. He remembers brushing the soot of his brother’s shirt on the day of the Reaping.

Then there’s the fire. He can’t forget it. He can’t forget the smell of the smoke or the heat from the flames engulfing his home. The roar of the fire was so loud and the smoke was stinging his eyes and all he could do was scream in agony as he realised what happened. The column of black smoke rising a few streets down told him all he needed to know about the fate of his girl. He collapsed in front of the burning building and howled his throat raw, cursing everything. Cursing Snow, cursing the Games, cursing his victory. Cursing his survival.

He has always cursed his survival.

He thinks it’s a wonder that he didn’t try to off himself before, but each time he tried to bring a knife to his wrist or a noose to his neck the memory of his brother clutching his arm desperately before he got on the train would come flooding back to him, no matter how drunk he was.

_ ‘You’ll win right Haymitch? You’ll stay alive? For us… For me?’ _

And each time he would fling his knife away or tear the noose knot apart thinking, yes I’ll stay alive, I’ll stay alive for you.

For some reason, Effie is in his nightmare. It’s not memories of her but rather the twisted product of his imagination. He sees her being dragged down and away from the penthouse and he doesn’t understand why the Peacekeepers are taking her and he chases after her, bellowing her name. They hold him back as they knock her to the ground; her knees buckle under her and blood trickles down her face. Her eyes flicker up to meet his for a moment, a silent plea for help, before she receives another blow to her head and suddenly there’s blood everywhere. He screams.

Haymitch is screaming from his room and Effie doesn’t know what to do. It’s strange that he’s even sleeping in his room because he almost never sleeps there, since the sofa is so much closer to the kitchen and to his bottles of liquor. But recently she’s noticed that he sleeps a little more in the nighttime and a little less in the daytime, that his supply of alcohol doesn’t run out as fast as it did during her first few weeks in Twelve, that he smiles a little bit more.

A strangled cry that sounds very much like her name brings her out of her thoughts. She knows, from experience, that he’s most lethal during a nightmare. She knows the moment he’s startled awake he’ll start hacking and slashing the air with that terrible knife of his but she can’t bear to hear his desperate yelling anymore. She hisses as her bare feet come in contact with the cold floor, wondering when the nights became so chilly, draws her dressing gown tighter around her and pads across the hall to his room.

Effie gingerly pushes open the door and see’s Haymitch writhing in agony on his bed, sheets tangled around his legs and across his torso. She can’t quite see where his knife is so decides to call his name from a distance.

“Haymitch,” she begins unsure, “Haymitch wake up,”

He simply tosses some more.

“Haymitch!” she tries a little louder.

When he doesn’t rouse after a few calls she decides, against her better judgement, to approach him, shaking his shoulders roughly to try and bring him out of his terrors. That works, almost too well, because he jolts out of sleep with guttural yell, swinging his knife around him. She leaps away as the blade just grazes her upper arm but she can feel the sharp sting of it slicing into flesh and she lets out a pained yelp.

Haymitch comes to his senses when his eyes land on her. Her eyes are wide open and she looks absolutely terrified of him. His eyes drift to the bright red seeping into her pale pink silk dressing gown on her arm and he swears before discarding his bloodied knife to the side in rage.

“What were you thinking Effie?” he shouts, practically shaking in anger, “God, I could’ve… You could’ve...”

She opens her mouth to say something but he continues.

“I’ve told you before not to!” he roars as he untangles himself from the sheets, “Why did you wake me up?”

He grips her shoulders hard and she tries not to whimper as pain shoots up her arm, “Why?”

It comes out as a whisper, “You were screaming my name,”

He stills.

Then he swears.

Then he pulls her into his arms and clutches her as though his life depends on it.

They stay like that briefly, Haymitch breathing roughly into her hair while she stands, shocked. He pulls back quickly, tugging her uninjured arm towards the door, looking away from her.

“Let’s get that wrapped up,” he mutters, voice thick with emotion.

Effie carefully shrugs off her dressing gown when they reach the dim kitchen, grimacing at the large cut in the bloodstained fabric. She chances a look down at her arm, silently thankful for the fact that, despite the blood seeping out from it, the cut isn’t very deep. He’s surprisingly gentle when he tends to her wound; he soaks up the blood with a clean cloth and rinses her arm in the sink.

“Have to disinfect it,” he mutters as he uncorks a small bottle of disinfectant, “It’s gonna sting,”

It does sting and her eyes can’t help but water as she squeezes them shut and grips the sink tightly. He winds a bandage around it, tying it off with a small knot, but his hand lingers by her arm. His fingers are barely skimming her skin and she risks a look in his direction but his pained eyes are trialed on her bandaged arm. Her breath hitches in her throat when he bends to press a shaky kiss on the white gauze.

He turns away without so much as a  _ ‘Goodnight Effie’ _ and makes his way up the stairs.

The next day she sees him take off in the direction of the woods with his knife.

He doesn’t return with it.


	11. Chapter 11

There’s a definite chill in the air as Effie sits on Peeta’s back steps watching as he rakes up the rotting orange and brown leaves on the grass. She draws the thick cardigan Katniss lent her closer around her body, thinking that she should really head into town to get some warmer clothes. She briefly considers going back to The Capitol to collect her clothes or to have them sent to her, but decides against it. They were never District Twelve appropriate anyway.

“Hello Effie,” Katniss greets, smiling softly, before heading towards Peeta.

It’s been a few days since Katniss’ latest bout of depression and although her eyes are still red and puffy, she’s looking better. Effie watches as the two of them exchange a few words, a smile playing on Peeta’s lips, before she takes the rake from him. Peeta hobbles over to Effie and plops himself down next to her with a huff.

“Leg bothering you?” she asks, concern lacing her voice, as he starts to massage his left leg.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “I think I’ve just been overtaxing it,”

She’s still looking very worried about him so he quickly changes the conversation away from his prosthetic leg.

“Where’s Haymitch?”

Effie rolls her eyes in exasperation at the mention of the man, “He went to collect his supply from the station, he should be back soon,”

Peeta laughs and her irritation withers away, “He’s drinking less though isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes, he’s making good progress under my watchful eye,” she winks and smiles, sounding a little bit like her old self.

He grins at her and her heart clenches because he looks  _ so much _ like he did before the terrors of the Games.

“I wonder if—”

They’re interrupted by Katniss’ yelp of surprise as Buttercup leaps into a freshly raked pile of leaves, sending them flying everywhere, before darting off.

“Buttercup!” she hisses, “Get back here!”

Peeta doesn’t know why he finds the situation so amusing but suddenly he’s laughing again, the sort of deep belly laugh they haven’t heard from him in such a long time, and Katniss’ anger evaporates. Effie is struggling to contain a giggle but Katniss just gives up and starts chuckling. Buttercup is jumping, trying to catch the leaves raining down, meowing sadly each time he misses them. This just fuels their laughter even more before Katniss takes pity on the wretched creature and drops a leaf in its face.

“This looks like a merry party,”

They turn to see Haymitch sauntering into the garden with a smirk on his lips. Effie takes a moment to appreciate how he manages to look scruffily attractive as he casually makes his way to them. This image of him doesn’t last very long because Buttercup darts pass his legs, making him lose balance momentarily, breaking his veneer of effortlessness, and everyone is laughing again. Even Haymitch can’t help but let out a small chuckle.

“By the way, there’s a package for you, princess,”

Effie looks astonished. She didn’t order anything so someone must have sent it to her from The Capitol. Or maybe from the other districts.

“Who’s it from?”

“Why don’t you find out?” He shrugs, mischief dancing in his eyes.

Fueled by curiosity, she pushes herself off the steps, wishing Peeta and Katniss goodbye, before heading back to Haymitch’s house with him trailing a few steps behind her.

Right on the doorstep is a small wooden crate, smelling strangely like dirt, with a rectangular, brown paper wrapped package on top of it. She pauses in front of the crate, small fingers reaching for the package, as he side steps her and heads to the back to feed the geese. She turns the package around in her hand, it’s rather weighty and feels a lot like a book, but her name isn’t anywhere on it and she wonders how the station’s office knew it was for her. Unable to bear the suspense anymore, she ungraciously rips the paper open and pulls out what looks to be a book on gardening. She’s even more confused until she flips it open and sees Haymitch’s familiar scrawl on the cover.

_ Lilies are best planted in autumn. _


	12. Chapter 12

Effie stares out at the nearly naked trees from the sofa in the living room, thinking about the man clattering about towards the back of the house. She remembers the first time they met. It was a day before her first reaping and she thought it would be best if she introduced herself to him beforehand. She arrived at his door, fidgeting in her flamboyant dress, wondering if the rumours and stories about him were true. After he opened the door, the pungent smell of alcohol and vomit hitting her like a brick, and called her something that sounded very much like ‘Capitol whore’ and then proceeded to throw up at her feet, she decided they were true.

She remembers the first time she thought he was going to die. She found him sprawled out on the floor of the penthouse surrounded by empty bottles with a small pool of vomit near him. After he didn’t respond to her yelling or her shaking, in a fit of panic she dragged him to the shower and rained ice cold water down on him. It was only after a few minutes under the freezing cold spray that he spluttered awake, shouting about how she was going to make him catch pneumonia. He was extra snappy at her for days after that, but she would gladly take a grumbly, noisy Haymitch to no Haymitch at all.

She remembers the first time she heard him truly laugh. It was at a party during the Games and she was chatting up a rather wealthy looking man at the bar, hoping to get some support for their tributes, when she heard him. She immediately turned towards the sound, surprised when she saw Haymitch practically shaking with laughter with Chaff. It made the corners of her lips turn up and made the conversation with the man slightly more bearable but she wondered why she couldn’t make him laugh like that. Then she wondered why she even cared.

She remembers the first time she came back from a private sponsor meeting with smudged makeup and bruises down her neck. The moment he laid eyes on her, he flew into a rage, sweeping his arm across the dining table, smashing the plates and glasses, yelling obscenities and cursing everything. He shouted all sorts of profanities at her before gripping her arms tightly and making her promise to never go for private meetings again. It shocked her how bothered he was by it.

A shiver brings Effie out of her thoughts and she realises how cold the room feels. Curled up and comfortable on the sofa, she’s unwilling to walk all the way up to her room to get something warm. With a sigh she resigns herself to the chill before her eyes fall on Haymitch’s sweater discarded on the cushions at the other end of the sofa. Without really thinking, she reaches for it and pulls it on, relishing the softness and warmth of the material as she inhales his scent and stretches her legs out across the sofa, allowing her thoughts to drift.

Haymitch stares absentmindedly at his geese, his thoughts on the woman sitting in his living room. He remembers the first time he saw her cry. He was stumbling through the train in the dead of night in search of more alcohol and he found her sobbing in the dining area. She was so wrapped up in her pain that she didn’t even notice him enter the room. He didn’t know what to do, so he just slipped away before she realised. He never found out why she was crying that night.

He remembers the first time she held his hand. They were standing around in the viewing room and one of their tributes was in an intense situation. Her blue eyes were wide and focused on the screens in front of them and she was practically biting the horrible lilac lipstick off her bottom lip. When a mutt jumped out from nowhere she gasped in surprised and her hand shot out instinctively for his. Their fingers were intertwined and she was gripping his hand so tightly he wasn’t sure if he would be able to wrestle it back, but when he saw tears fill her eyes he squeezed her hand just as hard.

He remembers the first time he saw her drunk. Both their tributes were dead and Effie’s Escort friends, if you could really call them that, were giving her a difficult time. He walked into the living room of the penthouse and she was sitting right in front of the window overlooking The Capitol and there was a very empty bottle of wine next to her. When he approached her she started yelling and crying and swatting the air around her, as if trying to keep him away. Then she scrambled to the bathroom and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet while he rubbed circles into her back. He wondered what she would think of the role reversal but what he really wanted to know was how her makeup managed to stay perfect through the whole ordeal.

He remembers the first time he saw her kiss someone. She told him exactly what she was planning to do, saying how there were rumours that Seneca Crane would be the next Head Gamemaker, before going of to flirt with the man. For a brief moment, he marvelled at the fact that it took him that long to see her kiss anyone, given the years they worked together, before anger overtook him. He wanted to look away but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. It wasn’t quite a peck on the lips but it wasn’t quite a chaste kiss either but all he could think of was how much he wanted to beat Crane until he was unrecognisable.

The angry squawking of his geese brings him back to the present and he realises he’s just standing in the cold with just a thin shirt on with a bag of stale bread crumbs in his hand. He tosses a few handfuls into the pen before making his way up the back steps, wondering where his sweater disappeared to. He chucks the bag onto the kitchen counter before making his way to the living room. He’s just about to call out for Effie but her name dies on his lips when he sees her curled up on the sofa, sleeping soundly, in his sweater. That makes him happier than he thinks it should.


	13. Chapter 13

Harvest Festival rolls around some weeks later and four of them forgo the town festivities, wishing instead to spend the time quietly with each other. Peeta makes the lamb stew with plums that Katniss likes, Katniss shows Effie how to decorate the doors with corn and Haymitch just tries his best to ignore the fact that Effie still hasn’t given his sweater back. Not that it’s bothering him at all. It’s big and swallows her small frame up but she’s wearing it like a dress today with some warm leggings and he wonders if he should be worried about the fact that he likes seeing her in his clothes.

Dinner is filled with idle chatter, everyone carefully avoiding any topics that would set off a reaction with either of them but that doesn’t leave a lot to talk about so they stick to things happening in the present. They talk about Effie’s foray into gardening, ‘I still can’t get the dirt stains off my trousers!’, about Peeta’s baking experiments, ‘Who knew cucumbers could be so wrong?’, about Katniss’ forest excursions, ‘There seem to be more rabbits than usual,’, and about Haymitch’s geese, ‘Damn things won’t stop making so much noise’.

Effie brings out a bottle of wine and everyone indulges in a drink; they smile, they laugh and they do what they can to stay away from thinking of their dead families. She wonders if this is how it will be from now on, if it will always feel like every happy exchange has an undercurrent of melancholy, and she thinks back to her stay at the hospital.

They finally reduced her morphling level to one where she could stay lucid for most of the day and Haymitch came to visit her again. She was sitting up in bed, staring at a healing cut running up her forearm, tracing the puckered wound lightly.

“You’re just going to irritate it further,” she heard him say as he pulled the curtain aside.

She shrugged but stilled her hand anyway.

“Hello Haymitch,” she breathed. She sounded so tired and God, she was so so so tired.

“How you feeling, princess?” he asked gruffly as he flopped into the cushioned chair next to her bed.

“Tired,” she murmured, fiddling with the blanket on her lap.

He grunted in acknowledgement.

“Some days it doesn’t feel like I’m alive,” she continued softly, “And on the days I do…”

“You always feel a little dead inside?” he finished, a grim smile on his face.

“Yeah,” she sounded broken.

“Yeah,” but so did he.

“It’ll be like that for some time,” he stated bluntly.

She started crying. Then she was laughing, her tears dripping into her smile as she spoke.

“Thank you,” she breathed relieved, “Thank you,”

Everyone she saw, the nurses, the doctors, even a few of her slightly less squeamish Capitol friends who came to see her kept saying that things would be alright. That she would be okay. That she would go back to normal soon. But he understood that it was difficult, that things won’t really be the same again, that some things just don’t go away. It was so refreshing to have someone state the blatant truth of the entire miserable situation instead of dancing around her pretending that nothing ever happened.

“Effie?” she hears a tentative call from Peeta, “Are you okay? You look a bit… dazed,”

“Nothing new there,” Haymitch smirked.

She rolls her eyes at him before replying, “Oh yes,” she beams, “I’m just,” she’s not sure if she should say it, “Glad we’re all here together,”

When a hush falls over the table she decides that maybe it was the wrong thing to say but, to her surprise, Katniss speaks up.

“Thank you, Effie,” she murmurs gently, her lips lifting into a small smile.

She’s not really sure what Katniss is thanking her for but when Peeta takes her hand in his, and Haymitch’s rough ones clasp her own, and everyone is holding hands around the table, it takes everything in her to not start weeping right then and there. They stay like that for a few moments before going back to their food, the air feeling a little bit lighter and the conversation a little less stilted.

Later that night, as Effie is curled up on the sofa with a book, Haymitch settles into the cushions at the other end with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She raises her eyebrow at the bottle but he just pours each of them a glass, she’s surprised that he’s actually using a glass, and they lapse into a comfortable silence.

Sometime later she hears him, it’s barely a whisper but she catches it.

“I miss them,”

She doesn’t wait for him to elaborate. The quiet admission of those three words already exceeds anything anyone would expect of him.

His pained eyes are looking into his wineglass as though it holds the reasons for their suffering.

He glances out the window and sees the silhouettes of Katniss and Peeta moving about in the house across the street.

“Have the kids though,” he shrugs, a wry smile on his face.

Before she can stop herself it comes tumbling off her tongue and out of her lips.

“And me,”

His stormy grey eyes slowly lift from the burgundy liquid to her deep blue eyes and she can’t tell if that was the wrong thing to say because he’s just staring at her.

His brows knit.

He looks away.

She regrets it immediately.

“Do I?”

It comes out so strained and harsh and almost… Hopeful, that she’s momentarily stunned.

She’s shocked that he even has to ask but maybe it’s what he needs. The reassurance that she’s not going anywhere. That her living in Twelve isn’t a temporary stint. That she’s here, to stay with him. 

“Of course,” she murmurs, looking down at her hands peeking through the sleeves of his sweater, “Of course you do,”


	14. Chapter 14

They’re looking at the thick frost covering the patch where she planted the lilies. She’s hoping that they’ll still sprout in spring because she put a lot of work into them. He’s hoping that they’ll sprout because it would make her happy. He doesn’t know how her hand ended up in his but she’s soft and warm against the frigid air and it makes him feel a little bit less miserable so he doesn’t make an effort to pull his hand away.

They’re cooking dinner together in the kitchen. Or trying to at least. Effie’s vegetable soup turns out too salty and too spicy. Haymitch’s venison comes out completely black. They take a moment to laugh at their ineptitude before deciding to brave the cold to badger Peeta for some food. She doesn’t know when they became so domestic but it makes her feel like she belongs so she happily scrapes the burned meat out of the pan.

They’re having lunch together at Peeta’s house. Peeta gives Effie some cooking tips while Haymitch and Katniss talk about the ongoing development of Twelve. When Haymitch lets out a loud yawn after lunch, Effie chides him for his rudeness before suggesting they go home. Peeta and Katniss can’t recall when she started calling Haymitch’s house ‘home’, but because the both of them seem so quietly pleased by it they don’t bother asking.

They’re pressed up shoulder to shoulder on the sofa even though there’s more than enough room for the both of them. Effie reads out loud. Haymitch listens. When he gets up to make himself a sandwich from the kitchen she follows him without a second thought. Their elbows knock and their arms graze but she doesn’t shift to put more space between them. It occurs to her how much she wants to be in his presence all the time. The realisation scares her.

They’re trying to massage feeling back into their frozen fingers and toes by the fire. He watches as she reaches for _her_ mug on the coffee table. He glances at her coat hanging on _her_ coat peg. He notices all the books on _her_ shelf in the living room. He looks at his stretched out leg intruding on _her_ end of the sofa. It strikes him how much of a constant she is in his life. It terrifies him.


	15. Chapter 15

The anniversary of the end of the war arrives and it’s a bitterly cold day in Twelve. There were talks in The Capitol about making it Memorial Day but it was decided that that day should be sometime in summer and not during lifeless winter. The four of them are huddled together in Peeta’s living room; Katniss has her head on his shoulder with a dead look behind her eyes, and Effie has her hand sandwiched between Haymitch’s. They silently watch President Paylor’s heartfelt speech, neither of them quite listening to her words.

Katniss can’t help but think of her sister. Of her lovely, gentle Prim. Prim who cared about animals so much that she couldn’t hunt. Prim whose skilled hands could heal. Prim who was too young, too good, too innocent, to die. She doesn’t cry; she’s far too deep in her depression to feel anything but self-loathing and regret. Paylor is going on about the end of the war but all she can think of is how it meant the end of her sister.

Peeta thinks about his family, now ashes in the ground where new buildings stand. He thinks about his docile father, who would patiently teach him how to frost, then of his abusive mother who would lash out at him and his brothers for the slightest mistake. He wonders what they would think of him now. They were long gone before the end of the war and all the end meant was that Katniss had one less thing threatening her life.

Effie ponders over her days in prison, tracing the scar down her forearm. Those days were filled with hopelessness and pain. She didn’t wish for her fashionable clothes, or her luxurious apartment, or even for rescue. The only thing she wished for, in the dank dungeons that always had the lingering smell of blood, was death. The end of the war meant freedom. Freedom, and the guilt of surviving.

Haymitch is yelling in his head. Every face, every name of the Capitol people involved in the game flashes through his mind. Every face, every name of the forty-six children he mentored are flashing through his mind. Every face, every name of the victors he made friends with are flashing through his mind. The end of the war meant a safer world where he didn’t have to send children to their deaths and where he could drown his demons with alcohol in peace.

The speech ends and they turn the holo off, everyone staring at everything and nothing, sitting in the deafening silence. After sometime Katniss voice pierces the haze of thoughts.

“Haymitch,” she mutters tonelessly, “There’s a peacock at your front door,”

Haymitch cranes his neck to peer through the window at his house across the green and just as Katniss said, there’s a bright blue haired man in a purple velvet overcoat standing on this doorstep, knocking politely. He swears under his breath, wondering why the hell someone from The Capitol would be looking for him.

“Maybe if I just stay here he’d—”

“Oh!” Effie exclaims, “Oh it’s him!”

Everyone isn’t sure if the surprise and delight in her voice is a good or a bad thing.

“Please excuse me,” she mutters hurriedly, pulling her hand from Haymitch’s and standing up, “I must say hello,”

Effie practically trips over her feet trying to get out the door, completely forgetting her coat hanging by the door.

Haymitch tries not to resent how quickly she shot up and out at the appearance of the man.

They watch with curiosity and apprehension as she makes her way across, calling out to the painted peacock with a wide smile. He turns, a grin practically splitting his face in two, before pulling her into a long embrace. When they break apart, his hand doesn’t move from her shoulders and she doesn’t make an effort to shift away from him. Her face is flushed with happiness and his eyes don’t ever leave hers. They chat and laugh for a bit before she begins shivering and the peacock shrugs off his hefty coat and places it around her shoulders.

Haymitch thinks he’s never seen anything look more wrong or more right in his life and he thinks he’s going to be sick. He chides himself for being so naive, for forgetting that although Effie hated Capitol-the-government, she’s always loved Capitol-the-city, and wonders if a visit from someone who reminds her so much of the place would be enough to undo all the silent promises between them. He ponders over why this peacock of a man looks so familiar and he tries to rake through his memories, fuzzy or otherwise, trying to place him. Was he part of the Games? A sponsor? A model?

Then it hits him.

It was during their first few years together as Mentor and Escort. One of their tributes was viciously beaten to death and Effie ran out of the viewing room, with unshed tears in her eyes and trembling lips. When she didn’t return after awhile, he left in search for her, ready to yell at her for abandoning her job of helping him look for sponsors, when he found her weeping in the arms of a blue haired man at a quiet corner outside the building.

Everything hits him.

He’s seen this man with Effie sporadically over their years working together. At a Capitol party, handing her a drink. A few moments before the opening ceremony, squeezing her hands reassuringly. Looking over a paper, halfway through the Games. He thinks about the phone calls she makes occasionally, about once a month, to ‘a friend in The Capitol’. He didn’t think much of it. Until now.

Haymitch doesn’t really know what to think or to feel, so he just resorts to his default of angry. Angry that he let her worm her way into his life. Angry that he let himself become so content with her presence. Angry that she was never really his. He’s so wrapped up in his head he doesn’t notice her entering the house until she looks at him expectantly, his coat in her hand.

“Let’s go home,” she smiles.

He snatches it out of her hands with a snarl and she looks stunned for a moment before stomping away from him towards home.


	16. Chapter 16

The following week the air between them is so tense that even Katniss and Peeta stay away from his house. Their words are snappy, their tones are clipped, and their bodies never touch. Haymitch provokes her, Effie retaliates, both end up quietly hurt. They’re almost never in the same room at the same time anymore. Effie has lunch with the kids and leftovers for dinner. Haymitch has leftovers for lunch and dinner with the kids. She reads in the living room in the morning, he drinks in the study, and after lunch they switch locations, as if detailed by some unspoken agreement, trying their best to stay out of each other’s path.

Effie wants to ask him why he’s being so childish about her Capitol friend visiting. Haymitch wants to ask her why she hasn’t left yet. Neither of them say what they’re thinking.

One day it comes to a head when she’s rounding the corner into the living room and he’s rounding the corner out. Her book goes flying out of her hands and his whisky sloshes onto his sweater.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, princess,” he growls, shaking the amber liquid off his hands.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” she counters, picking up her book.

“This is my house,” he grits out.

“Well I live here too!” she yells, gesturing at all her belongings strewn around the living room.

“Completely uninvited,” he points out, voice still shaking with anger, “So why don’t you pack your things, sweetheart,”

A look of hurt like nothing he has seen before falls over her features and he realises that maybe he’s been looking at things the wrong way.

He deflates immediately, “Effie, I—”

But she’s already running up the stairs to her room.

He smashes his glass on the floor.

Then he goes after her.

He doesn’t bother knocking and he’s met with the sight of her haphazardly throwing clothes into the empty bag on her bed.

“Effie,” he tries to sound gentle.

“What?” she snaps but he can hear the tremor in her voice.

“Effie just stop,” he groans, frustrated, scrubbing his face with his hands.

“You clearly don’t want me here,” she mutters as she fails miserably at keeping the hurt out of her voice.

“No, Eff. Look,” he sighs, sitting at the edge of her bed, “Can we just talk?”

She lowers the dress in her hands.

The silence stretches out.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” she finally mumbles, rubbing the fabric of the dress between her fingers, “The guy from The Capitol,”

“Yeah,” he breathes, relieved, “I thought…”

The reason for his sour, bitter mood dawns on her.

“You… you thought I was going back,” she pauses, “With him,”

He nods mutely, both unwilling and unable to say more, and turns his head away from her. She walks the few steps separating them and stands in between his knees and he smells her; the vanilla and honey that he’s become so used to. That he’ll never be able to forget.

“Haymitch,” she murmurs, her soft hands tilting his head towards her.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to look at her. Everything feels too close, too vulnerable, too exposed, and it’s taking everything in him not to push her aside and run. She tentatively rests her forehead against his, her eyes fluttering shut as well. She can smell the spilled whiskey on his sweater. She can feel his rough beard under her fingers. She can feel his short breaths on her face. He slowly lifts his trembling hands and places them on her waist and her thumb starts to rub circles into his neck. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest. His heart feels like it’s going to stop.

“Effie,” he breathes, almost pleading.

And suddenly her lips are on his. She’s practically shaking under his hands when he kisses her back. It’s slow. Careful. Scared. God, they’re both terrified. Her lips are soft against his dry ones. Her breath is hot against his cheek. Her hands feel like fire against his skin. He tightens his grip around her and pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. She tastes like the tea she’s so fond of and a hint of cinnamon from the buns she had for breakfast. He tastes like the whiskey he was drinking and the berries he was snacking on.

She pulls back reluctantly and he looks up at her with a small frown on his face.

“I have to go back,” she whispers.

His heart shatters at those words and for once, he doesn’t feel angry. He just feels broken. Tired. Lost. He doesn’t understand how or why one person can affect another so deeply.

“Not like that,” she quickly clarifies and his heart lifts a little but he’s still confused.

“It’s my apartment,” she begins, lightly stroking the side of his face with her thumb, “The contract is ending soon. I have to clear out my stuff and tie up loose ends,”

“So the peacock,” he starts, his voice rough, “He was…”

“He’s an old friend. He’s been watching over my apartment and sorting out some things for me in The Capitol because I didn’t want to go back but… I can’t avoid it anymore,”

“Will you…” he swallows, hating how his voice cracks, “You’ll come back after you’re done?”

“If you’ll have me,” she beams with a hint of shyness.

“Of course,” he breathes, gently pulling her head towards his.

“Of course,” he smiles against her lips before capturing them in another kiss.


	17. Chapter 17

It’s been a week since Effie left Twelve. Haymitch tries to ignore how quiet the house sounds without her. When he comes down in the morning, he expects her to be at the dining table, munching on some toast with a steaming mug of tea by her side. She’s not. When he goes out to feed the geese he expects her to be leaning against the doorframe, watching him, when he looks up. She’s not. When he goes to sleep at night he expects her to be in her room when he knocks and wishes her goodnight. She’s not.

He tries to think of the day they saw her off. Peeta and Katniss came along and all of them were standing around in the cold waiting for the train to arrive. When it did, he pulled Effie into a long kiss, winking at her as she got on the train with a face-splitting grin. Katniss blanched, looking confused and stuttering out questions while Peeta just shook his head smiling, muttering something that sounded like ‘Finally’.

It’s been two weeks since Effie left Twelve. She tries to be patient with the people handling her apartment but she’s at her wits end. She misses having dinner at Peeta’s house. She misses reading to Haymitch. She misses Katniss trying to teach her about hunting. She misses home. She’s just thankful that all the packing has left her exhausted so she falls into a deep sleep instantly because it means that she won’t dream. She won’t have nightmares. The prospect of waking up alone, after so many nights of having Haymitch there to still her shaking shoulders, is terrifying.

It’s been three weeks since Effie left Twelve. Haymitch is honestly trying his best to not drink through his entire supply but he can barely tolerate the stillness of the air. It’s even worse at night when he’s fighting his demons alone without her to bring him out of the terrors. Effie has called three times, each time on a Sunday like they used to do, complaining about the inefficiency of the bankers and her landlord and the moving company and about how much she wants to go home. He doesn’t say it, but it feels as if she’s not coming back at all.

It’s been a month since Effie left Twelve. She’s finally, finally, on the train home and she can’t stop smiling. Her boxes of clothes and belongings should have arrived in the district by now and she can already picture Haymitch with a frown, asking her why she needed to bring all her clothes with her. He’s standing in the fading light on the platform as the train pulls in and she’s practically bouncing up and down in her seat, waiting for the train to stop so she can go to him.

The moment the doors open she’s walking, as quickly as she can without running, towards him. Before he can even greet her, she’s pressed up against him, her lips meeting his in a deep kiss. She relishes the coarseness of his beard on her skin, the faint taste of whiskey on his lips, the scent of firewood on his collar. She can feel him smiling against her lips and she pulls back.

“You’re eager aren’t you?” he smirks.

“Don’t act as if you’re not,” she arches her eyebrow.

On the way home he turns to her and asks, “Effie why did you send all your clothes here. I mean, we have space for them in the house but they’re a bit… ridiculous,”

She purses her lips at the word ‘ridiculous’ but replies anyway, “I thought I could repurpose some of them; use the fabric for new clothes. Twelve can definitely use some colour. And maybe I can keep the less ‘ridiculous’ ones for special occasions,”

“You can sew?” he grins, incredulous.

“Of course I can,” she snaps in mock offence.

He just laughs at her and before they go home they make a detour to Peeta’s house.

“Well it’s more like Peeta and Katniss’ house now,” he clarifies.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“She moved in a few days ago. They’re not… together or anything but I think… They’re better like this. They seem a little happier,”

Peeta and Katniss greet her warmly, updating her on the small details about Twelve that Haymitch omitted while she tells them how the fashion still hasn’t changed much, ‘Body modifications aren’t in style anymore, thank god, but everything else still is,’. They return home with a small basket of cinnamon buns, at Peeta’s insistence, and she barely has any time to place them on a table before Haymitch pulls her flush against him and kisses her lips raw.

Later that night, he tugs her into his room, ‘Just sleep, princess. I promise’, and they lie pressed up against each other. He’s absentmindedly stroking her arm and she’s burrowing into his chest and they’re both wondering how, with the odds stacked so high against them, they ended up here. Alive. With each other. Effie thinks that maybe she should just accept things as they are, welcoming the good along with the bad. Haymitch is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It never does.


	18. Chapter 18

The days grow longer and the faint scent of lilies fill the warm air as Effie flings the curtains apart and throws the living room windows open. Haymitch grimaces at the sudden intrusion of light but smiles at the sight of her by the window, bathed in the late morning light. The scars on her arms glow differently from the rest of her skin. They always have, even in the moonlight. But he doesn’t need light to know their locations on her body; he’s explored and mapped every inch of her hundreds of times, and she him. She’s padding around the house in nothing but one of his shirts and he snorts at her squeal of surprise when there’s a knock on the front door.

As Effie scrambles up the stairs to get dressed he ambles over to let whoever’s knocking, probably Katniss or Peeta or both of them, into the house. Peeta greets him with a warm smile and a cheery _‘Good morning!’_. Haymitch just nods and looks at the boy expectantly.

“Katniss and I are having some brunch in our garden,” he beams, “We were wondering if you and Effie would like to join us,”

“Brunch huh?” he ponders, his stomach growling in approval.

Before he can answer, they hear Effie calling from the top of the stairs.

“We’ll be there, Peeta. Just,” she grunts, “Need to get dressed,”

Peeta has a knowing smirk on his face and Haymitch’s glare sends him scurrying across the green back to his house.

Effie practically glides down the stairs in the sunflower yellow sundress he loves, with her blond hair tumbling over her shoulders in gentle waves. He presses a small kiss to her temple when she cuts a few stalks of lilies, gathering them up in a bunch, before they make their way across.

“For the house,” Effie smiles as she offers the flowers to Katniss.

“Let’s put them in a pitcher for now,” she murmurs, “Peeta smashed one of the few vases we had left,”

He looks at them, a combination of sheepish and guilty, “I had an episode,”

Katniss just squeezes his hand reassuringly before Haymitch cuts in, complaining about how hungry he is and they make their way towards the back garden.

They walk around barefoot on the grass and lie on blankets in the shade of the trees. Primroses bloom around them. Leaves rustle in the breeze. The smell of freshly baked bread lingers in the air. Effie braids Katniss’ hair as she eats cheese buns, Peeta sketches while Haymitch examines his prosthetic leg with curiosity. They don’t speak much, if at all. But Katniss is humming softly and Haymitch has a ghost of smile on his lips

Before they leave, Peeta hands them a canvas.

“We thought it was the right time to give this to you,” he beams shyly, blue eyes bright in the sun.

Effie gasps at the painting, Haymitch’s eyes soften.

It’s of them. Laughing amidst the trees and wildflowers on a chequered blanket. Haymitch has an arm around his stomach, his mouth open in a deep belly laugh. Effie’s lips are parted in a chuckle, her arms bent to resemble a chicken. Haymitch glances at the painting, then at Peeta and Katniss holding hands, then at Effie staring at the picture in awe next to him and he thinks that maybe this is it. Maybe there isn’t a way to escape the nightmares. Maybe there isn’t a way to erase the memories. But maybe there’s a way to _live_ instead of just _existing_ with them. Maybe there’s a way to heal. To move on.

 

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck around for this long, thank you so much for reading! :)


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